On Foreign Service; Or, The Santa Cruz RevolutionJeans, T. T. (Thomas Tendron)
General
On Foreign Service; Or, The Santa Cruz Revolution
Jeans, T. T. (Thomas Tendron)
Great Britain. Royal Navy -- Fiction; Seafaring life -- Fiction; South America -- Fiction
’The infantry are advancing now,’ Seymour told me, but it was that cloud
of cavalry galloping towards San Fernando that I couldn’t take my eyes
off—there must have been five hundred of them, and we could hear the
noise they made though they were a mile away.
’D’you hear that?’ Seymour cried; ’Jones and Richardson have started
firing.’
Hear! Why, I jumped to my feet and yelled with delight, for the
’pom—pom—pom—pom,’ ’pom—pom—pom,’ ’pom—pom—pom’ and the
’crack—crack—crack’ of the little one-pound shells bursting, told me
what had happened.
’Keep down, you fool!’ Seymour shouted. Bullets were shrieking past,
chipping against the concrete every second, and Zorilla’s infantry were
coming down the road and through the trees, in close order, sweeping
past the Casino towards the ford.
My aunt! how we shot! I’d never heard any noise like the noise of the
firing that went on then, and I wonder, now, how many of those rifles
were properly aimed.
The Casino seemed to be trembling and shaking, my little chaps began
scrambling in the bottom of their bags for cartridges, and I knew that
they were running short of ammunition, but then they began shrieking
with joy, because the infantry couldn’t stand the fire from Gerald’s
chaps along the stream, and we saw them dodging back again from tree to
tree, and clearing away from the road—a tall gaunt officer, on
horseback, trying to stem the retreat and turn them round again.
Even at that distance I recognised him. It was General Zorilla, but he
couldn’t make them face the stream again, and they swept past him out of
sight.
’The cavalry are broken!’ Seymour cried joyfully, and, turning my head,
I saw them coming back again, the pom-pom shells knocking up little
spurts of dust and smoke among them, and some of Gerald’s people at the
side of the road firing point-blank at them. They were having an awful
time, horses and men coming down every second, and as a horse fell, it
brought down others behind it, in a heap of struggling bodies and legs,
the little white-shirted men darting out from the trees with their
_machetes_ to kill the wretched troopers before they could get to their
feet.
Those still on horseback came nearer and nearer, the leading ones were
almost up to the ford, and I could see them lying down on their horses’
necks, their arms raised in front of their heads, as Gerald’s people
crowded to the side of the road to fire at them; they burst through the
stream and came flying past the front of the Casino, many horses
riderless, their flanks streaming with blood from sharp spurs, and their
blood-shot eyes almost sticking out of their heads. We could hear the
sobbing noise they made in their distress—poor brutes, they were
absolutely foundered.
[Illustration: PLAN OF OPERATIONS ROUND SAN FERNANDO.]
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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